


closer than that.

by kiichu



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23943181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiichu/pseuds/kiichu
Summary: Oswald breathes out, suddenly, catching Ed’s attention. The smaller man sighs in contentment, his whole body practically melting into the embrace. Ed can feel Oswald’s every tremble, can track his thumb gently caressing his shoulder. In turn, Ed surrenders a smile of his own, his weapon-holding hand frozen in place and useless. There’s so much unspoken between them, an endless mine of words theycouldandshouldspeak.But funnily enough, Ed can’t seem to give that a second thought. What Oswald needs, what theybothneed, goes far beyond anything they could possibly say.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	closer than that.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this in my Google Doc drafts since the finale of Gotham, and I kind of didn't want it to keep sitting there. I'm aware this isn't my best work, but at least it's proof I'm alive, right?

“Shall we shake on it, then?”

Ed’s breath quivers as he asks, hopefully not betraying the anxiety churning his stomach. The blade in his hand is steady and his grip is firm, but he still feels every ounce of its weight. It’s so heavy - not the actual weapon, but the notion of what he intends to do with it. The reality of Oswald’s to-be fate settles on his shoulders, and it makes him more uncomfortable than he’d thought.

“ _Please_. We’re closer than that. A _hug_.”

Oswald looks as poised as ever in his scoff, rolling his eye dramatically. Their closeness does warrant more than a simple shake, it’s true - but Ed’s doubting himself again. An embrace would be the perfect excuse to stab Oswald in the back (figuratively _and_ literally this time), and yet he fears the intimacy. He’d once promised to stare this man in the eye as he killed him, but now he doesn’t know if he can muster up the necessary cruelty. 

But Ed doesn’t miss the way Oswald shifts, the way his hand is also behind his back sneakily; the feeling seems to be mutual, as they can’t ever help themselves. If the opportunity to kill is presented, it’s more than likely both of them will take it, regardless of history. 

So Oswald means to backstab, as well. Unfortunately, that does nothing to stop Ed’s hesitation. Even with Oswald, a _threat_ , meaning to harm him, Ed can’t muster up his usual malice and self-preservation tendencies. If anything, they only grow weaker. 

And before he registers it, Oswald’s arm goes around his shoulder, his face pressed just above Ed’s shoulder. The shorter man’s muscles are tight, readied, and Ed swears he can feel the tip of a blade against his back. His heart pounds against his ribcage and he holds his breath, readying himself for pain while simultaneously trying to will himself to strike.

He clutches his own knife above Oswald, the darkest parts of his heart screaming to go through with it. But he ignores that part of him - that part is so small, so weak, he’s able to crush it easily. _Do it,_ he yells at himself, _Kill him before he kills you._

Swallowing hard, Ed attempts to move the blade closer to Oswald’s suit, but his hand refuses to move. He plays it all out in his head, watching Oswald fall to the ground and the warmth of the blood spilling onto the floor. Before, he’d gone through those fantasies almost dreamily, like they’re some grand destiny he needed to fulfill. But now… now, they’re different.

This time, when he imagines Oswald’s death, it’s an intrusive thought - and God knows he’s had his fair share of those. The thought speeds his pulse, drops a stone into his stomach, makes his whole body sway -- it’s downright _terrifying_ to imagine anything happening to Oswald. No matter how much he probably _should_ stab his friend here, he knows it’s impossible. 

His gaze flitters to the bandage around the other man’s eye, and fear and guilt grip him tighter; if Oswald truly wants to stab him here, Ed knows he has no choice but to accept it. This is retribution, he supposes, for all the wrong he’s put Penguin through. 

He focuses on a spot on the wall and braces his own muscles, readying himself for the sharp pain. He’s felt it before; albeit in a different spot, Lee’s strike was agonizing enough to nearly take his life. But Oswald came through for him again in the end - another reason Ed can’t bring himself to even _move_ his hand. 

Oswald breathes out, suddenly, catching Ed’s attention. The smaller man sighs in contentment, his whole body practically melting into the embrace. Ed can feel Oswald’s every tremble, can track his thumb gently caressing his shoulder. In turn, Ed surrenders a smile of his own, his weapon-holding hand frozen in place and useless. There’s so much unspoken between them, an endless mine of words they _could_ and _should_ speak.

But funnily enough, Ed can’t seem to give that a second thought. What Oswald needs, what they _both_ need, goes far beyond anything they could possibly say.

Who really needs words at a time like this, anyway? At this point, Ed feels he’s _spoken_ enough, his throat still a bit sore from his earlier growls. His hatred for this city runs deep, but he’s wasted enough time focusing on it. Now, here in the arms of someone he _truly_ cares for, he can’t muster up an inkling of that hatred. 

Oswald’s relaxed, and it allows Ed the confidence to bring his own free arm up, wrapping gloved fingers around the man’s shoulder. He holds him tighter but gently, as though he were made of glass. 

(He knows Oswald’s not fragile, but given certain recent events involving shrapnel, well… it can’t hurt to be careful.)

Ed’s smile only widens as they finally separate, though a part of him wanted to hold on for a little longer. He’s never been one to shy away from what he wants, but for now, he knows he should follow Oswald’s lead. The smaller man stares at the ground for a moment, hiding a grin of his own, and sniffs. 

The beginnings of tears pool in his visible eye, and it twists Ed’s heart in a way he can’t bear. His bare hand clenches tightly into a fist while the other retracts the knife. Oswald mirrors him, stashing away his own weapon, and they lock gazes again. 

“Life begins anew,” Oswald murmurs, his voice a bit shaky.

It’s poetic in a way, and so expected of his friend; Ed beams, reciting familiar words they both know by now: “Shall we get to work?”

In response, Oswald gives another shy smile, his face positively _glowing_ . A second ago, this man was upset about their submarine (and his _dog_ ) being stolen and leaving them stranded once again in Gotham. Had it really taken just this small, quiet moment between them to soften him up? To make him this much more relaxed and at ease?

Had Ed really make him _that_ happy?

“Yes, I believe it’s time we reorganized ourselves,” Oswald murmurs then stares up at Ed, blue eye wide and wet. His lip almost quivers and his eyebrow raises in a look Ed’s seen before on him - a look that’s… _pure_ , too pure for someone as deranged as Oswald Cobblepot.

And that isn’t an insult - Oswald knows he’s deranged, as is Ed. They both have committed terrible crimes and feel little remorse for them, if any, and it’s not something they hide. And yet, this truth that usually frightens people away only brought them that much closer together. In a twisted yin and yang, they complete each other: one works best with the heart, the other the brain.

Oswald tried to tell him years ago, but they _need_ each other. If nothing else, that much is clear now. Ed wants to share his thoughts with his old friend, but feels his tongue shrivel up like he’s swallowed ash. It’s so odd, he reflects, how he’s normally more than happy to speak what’s on his mind, but the moment he wants to confess something to his dear friend... 

Well, that complicates things, as Oswald often does.

But Ed needs to say _something_ , as they’ve grown quiet in their mutual contemplation. “Do you… have any immediate plans?” he asks, because the subject of the future is all he can really strike up, conversation-wise. 

The smaller man blinks (or _winks_ , technically, with only one eye) and replies, “Some ideas here and there… but staying low for now is probably for the best - especially with this ugly thing healing.” His hand lifts to gingerly touch the covered wound, wincing at even the slightest contact. 

New seeds of guilt begin to root in Ed’s psyche, as he remembers once more that the other man took that grenade for _him_ . Apparently, it was the “least he could do” - as though Oswald truly believes the _bare minimum_ of his effort needs to be put towards saving Ed’s life. As though Ed’s _earned_ that sort of care and protection from _anyone_ , let alone Oswald. 

Uneasiness courses through Ed as he leans closer to Oswald, anxiety so palpable it’s pulsing like shockwaves. Oswald is guarded - he always is - but he doesn’t seem to take the movement as a threat.

“It’s not -- I’m -- Oswald, I _need_ to know: _why_ did you take that grenade for me?” The words tumble out of Ed’s mouth faster than he can process them, his heartbeat drumming in his ear. It’s strange; every possible answer he can imagine Oswald giving makes him equally queasy. Most of the responses he predicts are along the lines of owing a favor.

Oswald looks perturbed, nibbling on his lip and clearly thinking everything over. Another dark thought crosses Ed’s mind - what if his question was too much? What if Oswald decides to leave him to his own devices because he’s been too nosy?

 _I can’t be alone._ It’s not that he couldn’t work alone, but he _needs_ Oswald now. There’s no other man he wants to be beside, and he’s only really starting to come to terms with that.

“Well, I suppose it’s because I still love you.”

The words settle heavily in the air, Ed’s brain not processing them as quickly as he’d like. Oswald’s confession of love feels much different this time - this time, there’s no stakes, no crimes that preluded this. There’s no superfluous, conflicting romantic interest that would, in hindsight, probably have gone nowhere.

Oswald has just said the words freely, without condition, and he seems more than happy to admit it. Even under the threat of rejection, which has always teetered in their shaky alliances, he speaks without shame.

His certainty makes heat flush to Ed’s cheeks, the words meaning so much more after what they’d gone through. Oswald _sacrificed_ himself for Ed, proving that love is indeed about giving yourself for another. And in turn, Ed is ready to do the same for Oswald. 

Ed’s mind is entirely run by logic. Equations, numbers, formulas - they always have a set answer, a fixed solution. There’s never any room for debate in what is completely true; the number one will always be the number one, two will be two, and so on. Four plus four will always equal eight, and no one in their right mind would argue that.

Emotions are more difficult to understand because there’s not always such a clear answer. Ed’s thought he was in love before, time and time again with women who never seem to accept both halves of himself. Edward Nygma cannot exist without the Riddler, and vice versa.

Oswald loves Ed - he knows and loves _both_ of his personas. That is the truth that cannot be altered here.

_He loves me._

And, because of his willingness to sacrifice himself for Oswald, could that mean Ed loves him back? The fact that he wants to remain at Oswald’s side, for better or for worse, does that indicate love?

For once, he wants his mind to shut up - he wants to stop overthinking so much and go with what his instincts tell him. So he cuts off any anxious thoughts and lets his body move on its own for a moment.

And of course, he finds himself moving closer to Oswald. He’s quite close now, noting the other man’s freckled pink cheeks, and allows himself a smile. There’s a warmth now, he can feel it in the pit of his stomach where nausea used to sit.

His hands have a mind of their own, gently cupping Oswald’s face. The other man gives a slight flinch at the motion, but softens when their eyes meet. The hairs on the back of Ed’s neck stand up at the perceived electricity in the air, and suddenly it’s like there’s no one on earth but the two of them.

So, without truly questioning it, he closes the gap between them by slipping his lips onto Oswald’s.

It’s like he never had any hesitation. This kiss feels so incredibly _right_ , so _natural_ , and Oswald returns the motion with just as much sincerity. Ed holds on tighter to him, not willing to let go yet, his fingers gripping the fabric of Oswald’s suit.

Oswald smiles into the kiss, and both of them share a knowing look once they part. Ed feels at peace for the first time in a long while, staring into the other man’s eye. 

“Well that was… certainly unexpected,” Oswald rasps, giving a slight chuckle under his breath. 

“Was it too much?” Ed asks, suddenly self-conscious. 

Oswald’s chuckle deepens into a barking laugh. “No -- no, Ed, it… it was everything I’d ever wanted.”

That makes sense. Ed had had his doubts in the past, but he was never fully convinced Oswald’s feelings disappeared. Ed is certainly no stranger to deceiving himself as well, as he’d been convinced he hated this man for so long. Now, the very thought of betraying Oswald is so preposterous. 

“Perhaps it’s what I wanted as well….” Ed muses. “Or what I needed.” 

Oswald lets out a sigh, deep enough to signal he’d been holding his breath for a while. Ed has, too - metaphorically, that is. It feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders all of a sudden, like a wound on his heart’s been finally mended. 

It seems loving Oswald ended up being the solution to Ed’s biggest riddle yet.

And together, they’ll be _unstoppable_.


End file.
